


for the wrong reasons

by orphan_account



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Reference to Torture, Truth Serum, basically wade spilling his guts about all his past trauma, reference to a lot of bad stuff in general, reference to suicide, with a tiny bit of fluff thrown in there at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-10-20 09:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "'You’re always so nice, Petey.  Why are you always so nice?'Peter moves his hand to rub slow circles on Wade’s back.'Because I care about you.''No, why are you always nice?  You’re always gentle.  You’ve never tried to hurt me.  Not even once.  You’re the only person in my life who’s never tried to hurt me.'"Wade shows up at Peter's place after getting hit with a truth serum





	1. the wrong reasons

**Author's Note:**

> I really love truth serum fic, and this fandom has a serious dearth of it, so I'm being the change I want to see in the world, as the kids say.
> 
> Anyway, there's another chapter coming at a later, unspecified date. Maybe after I'm done with finals? We'll see, but I want to resolve this.
> 
> Warning for past trauma, child abuse, and basically all the awful stuff in Wade's past. Also, if you don't like people involuntarily spilling their darkest secrets, this may not be the fic for you.
> 
> I love talking with y'all in the comments so feel free to say hi! I hope you enjoy!

Peter has been with Wade long enough that he’s not particularly surprised to be awoken just past two in the morning by a knock at his bedroom window.   Wade is notorious for late night appearances, showing up in the wee hours of the morning and cajoling Peter to join him at some greasy 24/7 restaurant or play the latest shoot-em-up videogame.

Groggily, Peter sits up and turned on the lamp.  Sure enough, a familiar red and black figure looms in his window, illuminated by the glow of the city lights.  Peter pads over to the window and opened it, and is met with a gust of cold air.

“I’m sorry.  I know it’s late, but I really wanted to see you.”

Blinking as his eyes adjust to the light, Peter forces himself to focus.  His stomach twists slightly; it’s not spidey sense, but something deeper.  A base instinct. _Something’s not right_. 

Wade is rarely this straightforward and plainspoken.  When was the last time he had greeted Peter with something other than a joke or a laugh or a dumb nickname?  Something about the way he’s crouched on the fire escape was wrong, too.  Wade usually carries himself with a certain bravado, shoulders pulled back and chin lifted.  But now his arms are hugged around himself, body trying to become as small as possible.

“It’s okay.  Come on in.”

Peter extends his hand and helps Wade through the window.  He obviously doesn’t need assistance, agile fighter that he is, but he accepts it anyway.  Another bad sign.

Wade stands stiffly by the window, looking around the room.  He keeps moving his arms – first crossed, the clasped in front of him, then on his hips, then crossed again – clearly not knowing what to do with them.  Gone is the carefree confidence, the wacky humor.  It’s like someone else was inhabiting his body.

“Did something happen tonight?”

Wade won’t appreciate the prying, but Peter has to try anyway. 

“Yes.”

Again, unusually straightforward.

“Will you tell me about it?”

Then the dam opens.

“I was just out, doing patrols and whatnot, trying to be a good hero.  You’re a good hero, Petey, and you do patrols all the time, and I was just trying to be like you.  It was still relatively early, I had just broken up a minor gang skirmish – I hardly had to hurt anyone, just scare ‘em away.  Because that’s what good heroes do.  So I was sitting on a rooftop, and next thing I knew, half a dozen guys caught me by surprise.  They clearly knew what they were doing, had me bound and gagged before I could even react.  I was almost impressed, but then they shot me with something.  Must’ve been strong, probably would have killed a regular person, because it knocked me out long enough for them to get me to an empty warehouse.

When I came to, I was tied to a chair and they were sticking another needle in my neck.  Said it was truth serum or something.  Sounded like a load of bullshit to me – even if a truth serum existed, it’s not likely I’d be affected, what with my healing factor.  But it must’ve been integral to the plot, because it worked.  They started asking me questions, questions I didn’t want to answer, about the Weapon X program and some missions I ran before I met you and other ugly shit and I couldn’t control myself.  I just spewed, kinda like I’m doing now.  It was really scary.  Then they said they wanted information on Spider-Man, but there’s no fucking way I was gonna tell them anything about you.  I was just gonna bite my tongue off if they started asking me anything, because I wouldn’t betray you, not ever.  I’d die first.

But before they could start in on the questions, one of the goons walked behind me.  My hands were bound behind my back, and he was close enough that I could grab the gun tucked into the back of his jeans.  It was stupid, really, to get the gun that close to me.  These guys were supposed to be professionals.  So I shot the guy in the fucking kneecap with his own gun, which I gotta admit was satisfying, and while everyone was distracted, I smashed the chair and got outta the restraints and I fought my way out.  But I don’t think I gave anyone fatal injuries.  I tried really hard not to, because I wanted you to be proud of me.  But whatever serum shit they drugged me with is making me feel really weird and jumpy and bad, so I came here to see you.  Because seeing you always makes me feel better.”

Peter’s head spins at the speed of the story and the uncomfortable level of honesty.  Truth serum and kidnapping and Wade prepared to _bite his tongue off?_ Peter forces himself to take deep breaths and suppresses the urge to lie back down in his bed and pretend this is all a dream.  Because the first order of business is to make sure Wade is okay.  He can’t die, not really, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t frightened or in pain.

Peter approaches him, keeping his movements slow and predictable, like he’s dealing with an injured animal.

“Why don’t we start by getting you out of your suit and into some more comfortable clothes?  I think you’ve still got some stuff in one of my drawers.”

Wade shakes his head vehemently, like a stubborn toddler.

“No, I don’t want to do that.  I hate not wearing my suit around you.  I only do it because I know it makes you feel more comfortable and because I want you to know that I trust you, but I still hate it.  I’m so horrible and hideous and I don’t like having you look at me.  I like it best when we both wear our suits, because then I can pretend we’re just two guys in red spandex, that we’re the same.  But now you’re in your pajamas, and you’re perfect and beautiful and _normal_ , and if I take off my suit I’ll have to think about how horrible I am, especially compared to you, and I don’t want to do that.  But if it’s really important to you, I can change clothes.  I want you to feel comfortable, even if I don’t.”

Peter’s chest aches and his breath doesn’t quite fill his lungs.  This whole situation is so _wrong._ It’s wrong that Wade thinks like this, it’s wrong that Peter has never known, and it’s wrong that he’s violating Wade’s privacy just by listening to him.  But what else is there to do? He certainly can’t turn him back out into the night.  The most he can do is make Wade comfortable and try to keep him from saying things he’ll regret when the serum wears off.  If it wears off.  _God, it better wear off._  

“Okay, suit on.  That’s absolutely fine.  But right now, what can I do to make you feel a little better?”

Hopefully, that’s a harmless question.

“I’d just like to lie down.  I’m really tired and I don’t feel well.  I just want to lie down.  And I want you to stay with me.”

 _Okay, easy enough_.

Still keeping his movements slow, Peter takes Wade’s hand and leads him to his bed.  Wade sits on the edge to take off his boots and then curls up on his side, impossibly small for someone his size.  Peter sits on the bed next to him.

“Is this good?”

Wade hums his assent, nuzzling into the pillow.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

“Can’t.  I’m really bad at sleeping.  Usually everything in my head is just too noisy.  And everything always hurts.  Tonight the drug’s got me too wired.  Do you want me to go to sleep?  Because I can try, if you want me to.”

“It’s not about what I want, Wade.  I know you don’t feel good and I don’t want you to say anything you’ll regret, so I thought you might want to sleep this off.  But you don’t have to.  You should do what’s best for you.”

Wade props himself up on one arm shakes his head again with a newfound urgency.

“I need to do what you want.  I need to make you happy so you’ll still like me and you won’t leave.  I always end up doing things wrong and it makes people hate me.  Everyone always ends up hating me, and I can’t let that happen with you.  I don’t know what I’d do if you hated me, Peter.”

There’s a scream just begging to crawl out of Peter’s throat.  What sort of sick fuck invents a drug like this, leaving a person open and vulnerable and messy in all the worst ways?  Which awful people in Wade’s past made him think he’d be hated if he didn’t do exactly what they wanted?  There’s a throbbing starting up at Peter’s temples, but he takes a deep breath and grits his teeth.  He can get through this.  He has to get through this.  For Wade.

“Wade, I’m not going to hate you.” He keeps his voice steady and soft.  “All I want right now is for you to be as comfortable as possible.  Can you help me do that?”

“Yeah, of course, Petey.” Wade flops back down on the bed again.  “I just want to lie here and I want you to stay with me.  And I want you to talk.  Hearing your voice always calms me down.  And I want to be able to touch you.  Is all that okay?”

“Yeah, Wade, that’s all fine.”

Wade takes Peter’s hand and holds it against his masked face.  Peter strokes gently over Wade’s cheekbone, and Wade sighs with contentment.

“That’s really nice.  You’re always so nice, Petey.  Why are you always so nice?”

Peter moves his hand to rub slow circles on Wade’s back.

“Because I care about you.”

“No, why are you _always_ nice?  You’re always gentle.  You’ve never tried to hurt me.  Not even once.  You’re the only person in my life who’s never tried to hurt me.”

Peter’s stomach goes hollow, but Wade just keeps talking.

“You’ve probably wanted to, right?  At least at some point.  I know I’m an annoying, abrasive fuck-up, so it’s okay if you do.  I’ll just heal.  So it’s okay.”

Peter’s hand stills.  This drug is a truth serum.  Wade is telling the absolute truth right now.  He genuinely, at his deepest, most honest level, thinks it would be okay if Peter hurt him.  Peter wraps his arms around Wade and leans his head against his shoulder.

“No, Wade.  It’s not okay for someone to hurt you, not ever.  It doesn’t matter that you heal.  It’s still wrong.”

“Oh.”

They lie still for a long while until Wade breaks the silence.

“What are you thinking about?”

Wade’s forced to be completely honest right now.  It’s only fair if Peter’s honest too.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“That I care about you a lot and that I don’t like this drug and that I’m worried.”

“I don’t like this drug either.  But you don’t have to worry about me.  I’ve been through a lot worse with Weapon X.  They gave me all sorts of weird drugs way worse than this one.  They did lots of awful things to me.  But I’m don’t want to tell you about all that, because it might make you throw up.  Sometimes I throw up when I think about it too much, and I’ve had years to get over it.  Oh, and I’m glad you care about me.  I care about you a lot, too.  More than I ever remember caring about anything in my life.”

Although Wade may be trying to spare him, Peter still feels sick.  Wade’s the toughest person Peter’s ever met, so he can’t imagine what possible horrors could be traumatic enough to haunt him for years.  Or maybe he can imagine them.  But he doesn’t want to.

He would listen, though.  He would listen to every word.  No matter how awful it is, Wade shouldn’t have to carry it around alone.  But it was never meant to happen like this – Wade stripped of all agency, raw and vulnerable.

“You want me to talk, right, Wade?  So how about I tell you about my day?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.  I like hearing about your days.  They’re so normal.”

“Well, I spent most of the day helping Aunt May with some housework.  She had just gotten a new shelving unit she needed some help assembling.  So we worked on that for a while and I did a few other things around the house.  She made me dinner afterward, which was really nice.  And then I came back home and did a little photo editing before my deadline tomorrow.  Then I went to bed and slept for a while.  And then you came over, and now we’re here.”

Wade sighs, sounding relaxed.

“That’s so nice, Petey.  Your family is so nice.  I mean I know it’s only Aunt May now, but she’s such a great lady.  The first time I met her, she hardly stared at me at all.  And I know I can get too chatty when I’m nervous, but she just took it in stride.  She made us so much food that night.  She seems like the sort of person who likes giving to other people.  I wish I had grown up with someone like her around.”

Wade pauses and Peter silently wills him to stop talking.  He doesn’t need to hear about Wade’s childhood.  They’ve never discussed it, and Peter assumes that’s deliberate on Wade’s part.  This boundary isn’t another one he needs to violate tonight.

“Growing up was hard, you know?  No one gave a shit about me.  My parents wished they’d never had me.  I know ’cause they told me that a lot.  My dad was a mean drunk, used to hit me, put his cigarettes out on me, that sort of stuff.  My mom, she never cared where I was or what I was up to.  I broke my arm playing hockey once and I had to take the bus to the hospital by myself.  I think I was eleven.  I know it’s stupid, but growing up, I really wanted someone to care about me.  I used to think about it a lot.”

The worst part is how casually Wade discusses tells him all this, like he’s chatting about the traffic in Midtown.

“God, Wade, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”  Peter tries to convey as much honesty and earnestness in his voice as he can  He doesn’t know what else to do.  “I’m sorry you went through all that shit as a kid, and I’m sorry you’re being forced to tell me about it right now.”

“It’s okay,” Wade says.  “I was a handful as a kid, probably actually deserved a good half of it.

Peter forgets about being calming and reassuring for a moment.

“What?  No!  God, no.  Wade, you didn’t deserve any of that.  I mean, that’s ridiculous.  Maybe you acted out a little, but that doesn’t mean you deserved to have someone burn you with cigarettes.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Wade says hurriedly.

Peter groans audibly.

“No, Wade, you don’t have to agree with me on everything.  That’s not how relationships work, okay?  One person doesn’t make all the decisions and the other doesn’t just agree all the time.  It’s a partnership.”

“But with Nate—

“No, Wade, stop.”  Peter can’t just continue to sit here and listen as Wade involuntarily spills his innermost thoughts.  “Please, I just… I know you don’t want to be telling me all of this, not really.  And it feels really wrong to listen to all this private stuff.  Do you think maybe we could just watch a movie and not talk?  I don’t want you saying any more stuff you might regret.”

“Of course, Petey.  Anything you want.”

Not exactly what Peter was hoping for, but it’s better than nothing.

Peter puts on _Atlantis,_ deposits some blankets and pillows on the couch, and settles down next to Wade, throwing an arm around his shoulders.  Milo has just been kicked out of the Smithsonian when Wade speaks again, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

“It’s really nice, being curled up next to you like this.”

Peter smiles, maybe for the first time all night, and pulls Wade a little closer.


	2. the right thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! I know I said I’d finish this after finals, and finals have come and gone. But my mental health and current family situation are not great. Finishing this fic is a part of Operation Maintain What Is Left of my Sanity. The writing process has pretty much been workout until I want to puke while blasting angry music (they’re not kidding about exercise helping with stress! It’s a lifesaver!), mentally script the dialogue to keep mind off said near-puking state, and then write. And it shows, because this chapter gets pretty dark. Notice I added some tags. Heed them, and read only if you feel comfortable doing so! Otherwise, many thanks for your patience with me!

Peter doesn’t remember falling asleep, but wakes the next day to his alarm sounding from his bedroom.  He sits up, blinking slowly, memories of last night returning—the truth serum, the late-night visit, Wade’s deepest secrets spewed across the apartment like bitter, acrid vomit.

_Wade._

Peter glances hurriedly around the apartment, but it’s empty and the spot on the couch next to him is cold.

“Wade?”   His voice comes out hardly a whisper.  He clears his throat and tries again.  “Wade?”

No response.  Peter checks the kitchen table.  No note.  He tries Wade’s phone and it goes to voicemail.

Peter can’t blame Wade, not really.  If he had shown up at Wade’s apartment and spilled his guts, talked about how he still has nightmares about the night Uncle Ben died, he’d be mortified.  And missing your dead uncle is nothing compared to everything Wade confessed last night.  Still, Peter doesn’t know if the serum has worn off, doesn’t know if there’ll be any side effects.  Hallucinations, maybe, or paranoia.  Seizures, even.

But no good will come from jumping to conclusions.  He’ll keep a level head.  He’ll resist the urge to call the police.  He’ll brush his teeth and make coffee and go to work.  Wade has surely dealt with worse before, and he’s come out okay.

On the subway, Peter can’t resist sending Wade a quick text.

_Hey, just checking in to see if you’re okay._

By lunch, there’s no reply.  Peter has ripped six sticky notes to tiny blue shreds.

_We don’t have to talk about last night.  Just send me some confirmation that you’re alive._

By the end of the day, the pile of blue shreds has tripled in size and he’s broken his second favorite pen.  Peter calls again once he gets home and leaves a voicemail this time.

“Hey, Wade.  It’s me.  Look, last night was rough and I’m not going to make you talk about it.  But you were drugged with some sort of experimental serum, so I need to make sure you haven’t grown a second head or something.  Call me back.”

The first thing Peter does when he wakes up Tuesday morning is check his phone.  Nothing.

“Look, Wade, I don’t know if you’re embarrassed, or mad at me, or what, but I’m starting to get worried.  I’m not asking for much.  Seriously, just send me an emoji so I know you’re alive.”

_Hello??????_

_Wade, are you alive?  Yes or no?_

“Wade, seriously, this radio silence act is getting old and I’m starting to freak out. Call me.”

_Quit ignoring me.  If I don’t hear anything in the next twenty-four hours, I’m coming over._

_I’m not kidding.  You’ve got eighteen hours to confirm you’re alive._

_Ten hours._

“Look, Wade, it’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep because I’m worried sick.  Just call me back, okay?  Nothing you said Sunday night changes the way I feel about you.  I just need to know you’re okay.”

Peter’s generous.  He gives Wade a four-hour grace period after his official deadline has passed.  Finally, at two, he asks for the rest of the afternoon off.  He explains it’s a family emergency, which is only a slight stretch of the truth, and gets on the train to Brooklyn.  Sitting next to a young woman with a half-shaved head and a box Peter swears he saw moving, he plans what to say to Wade.  He’ll remain calm.  He won’t get angry.  Wade spilled his deepest, most traumatic secrets.  Secrets he may never have voiced allowed before.  And now, he’s likely so ashamed he can’t bring himself to face Peter.  That’s not something to be angry about.  Peter will be understanding.  Supportive.  He’ll reassure Wade that nothing has changed between them.  He’ll agree never to speak of it again.  They’ll be okay.

Peter arrives at Wade’s building and doesn’t bother with the front door.  Wade likely won’t answer.  Instead, Peter sneaks around to the back of the building, checks to make sure the alley is empty, climbs up the side of the building, and slips in through the window.

He climbs into the living room, and there’s Wade, stretched out leisurely on the couch in sweats and a t-shirt, some cartoon involving giant lion robots playing on his TV.

Peter clears his throat.

“Wade?”

Wade sits up, reaching instinctively to the gun tucked between the couch cushions, but stops halfway.

“Oh.  Peter.  Hey.” His voice betrays no emotion, but at least he pauses the television.

“Hey, Wade.  Look, sorry for breaking in an all, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”  Peter tries a smile.

“Yeah.  I got your texts.”

Peter takes a few steps closer and perches on the coffee table, facing Wade.

“I just wanted to see that you’re okay.”

“Yep.  Doing fine.”

“And I wanted to tell you we don’t have to talk about what happened.  I want to respect your privacy and boundaries as much as I can.”

“Yeah.  Okay.

Peter didn’t think this conversation was going to be easy, but he has to admit he wasn’t expecting _this._ Wade, cold and impassive, hardly speaking to him.  But Peter takes a breath and reminds himself to be patient.

“I’d like to think I know you pretty well, and I’m guessing you’re worried I’m going to judge your or pity you or something.  I’m not, okay?  Nothing has to change between us.”

Wade laughs humorlessly.

“You really expect me to believe that, Parker?”

Wade calls Peter all sorts of names, some more ridiculous than others.  Peter, Petey, Petey-Pie.  Baby, Bubble-Butt, Honey Bunches of Oats.  But his surname?  That’s never a good sign.  And worst of all, Peter doesn’t know what he’s done to cause it.

“I mean, yeah. We’ve been through a lot together, and I really care about you.  One night isn’t going to change how I feel.”

“Really?” Wade asks, voice almost echoing in the sparsely furnished apartment.  “Because I think it already has.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I ignore you for days, refusing to respond to your increasingly desperate messages.  You have to break into my apartment to contact me.  And you find me perfectly safe, fully capable of responding, and clearly having chosen not to.  And you’re not even mad at me.   I act like a dick, and you come to me with your big brown eyes and your understanding and tell me how ‘nothing has to change.’

Even with his spidey-sense, Peter sometimes gets caught off-guard in combat.  A blow to the back of the knees that throws him off balance, an opponent firing a weapon Peter didn’t realize she had.  Once, Peter had been fighting with Kraven in Central Park.  He’d thought he had had the upper hand, and was just about to web Kraven to a lamppost when he’d found himself upside-down, dangling by his ankle from a tree.  He’d stepped into a trap he didn’t once consider would be there.  This conversation feels a little like that.

“You wanted me to be mad at you?” Peter asks, incredulously.

“If I had pulled this shit before Sunday night, you would’ve been.  But I tell you a few sob stories about how I wasn’t hugged enough as a child, and you’re so overcome with pity you forgive me for being an insensitive asshole.”

“Wade, no, that’s not what this is about.  I’m just trying to put myself in your shoes, understand where you’re coming from.  You were forced to spill your most traumatic secrets –

Wade cuts him off with another cold laugh.

“You really think that’s the worst I’ve got?  Honey, you haven’t scratched the surface.  You wanna hear about the Weapon X program?  You wanna hear about how it feels to have each of your fingernails ripped out?  You want me to tell you about how there wasn’t a day that went by in that place that I didn’t end up vomiting blood?”

The left corner of Wade’s mouth is twitching downwards in the way it does when he’s trying not to cry.

“Or about the time when I was seventeen, came home to find my stuff on the front steps?  No note, nothing, just a duffle bag.  You wanna hear about the next four months?  The shit I was willing to do to get a meal or a place to sleep?  You wanna hear about some of the missions I ran back when I was freelancing?  What I did to people?  You couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me if you did.”

Peter needs to think of a way to stop this, stop Wade’s voice from getting louder or his eyes from getting wilder.

“You wanna get into the really pathetic shit?   How I’ll dive off a building or give a Magnum a blowjob just to get a fucking moment of peace?  Remember that first night I spent at your place?  You came into the bathroom and I was curled up on the floor.  I told you it was food poisoning, but really I’d woken up from a nightmare so bad that I fucking hyperventilated until I passed out.  You’re sitting here with your fucking moral compass and your fucking normal life and if you knew who I really was, you wouldn’t waste another second of your time on me.”

Wade is standing now, breathing hard, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I love you.”

Peter doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but he realizes, as it comes out of his mouth, that it’s the truth.  He loves Wade.  Loves him because of all this messy, awful shit, not in spite of it.  Because Wade’s been through traumas most people couldn’t imagine, but he gets up every day and he goes out into the world and he _tries._ Tries to do the right thing, tries to help someone.  He took everything that happened to him and decided that it stopped with him.  That he was going to be better than what he had endured.

And in loving Wade, Peter chose to take on this baggage.  He’s not stupid; he knew Wade had a past darker than most.  Loving someone means being there for all of it.  And loving a superhero means accepting the possibility that they’ll show up at your apartment one night drugged to the gills with some likely illegal truth serum. Peter knows what he’s signed up for.  He’s not backing out now.

And he tells Wade all of this, and if he’s crying by the end of it, well, it’s been a long week.  And Wade is quiet for a long time.

“Did you know _Atlantis_ has a sequel?”

Of all the possible responses, Peter hadn’t been expecting this one.

“I didn’t.”

“It’s not as good as the original, obviously, but it’s worth watching.  You wanna have a movie night?”

Wade microwaves a bag of popcorn and settles onto the couch next to Peter.  His mouth is only twitching intermittently now, and Peter nestles in closer to him and lies his head on Wade’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading <3 <3 Please remember to take care of yourselves as best you can! Exercise and writing have been so valuable in helping me keep it together during this stressful time, so here’s me passing along the good self-care vibes.
> 
> ALSO! My friend wrote an amazing fic called Seven Years Went Under the Bridge that you really should go check out! It's one of the best Spideypool fics I've ever read. Truly, it's brilliant, and it'll be a nice bit of fun and fluff to cheer you up after this mess XD


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